


The Way Back

by Jaxopil



Category: Hogan's Heroes
Genre: Angst, Drama, Gen, Lots of it, darker than canon, some torture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-07
Updated: 2019-05-05
Packaged: 2020-01-06 10:26:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 13,520
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18386582
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jaxopil/pseuds/Jaxopil
Summary: News is more than what you hear. The mission had been botched in what seemed the worst way possible, but it didn't mean that was actually the case.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is partially based on my previous one shot of Moxie, although it is unrelated. I will warn that while there is nothing very graphic and a lot of it is told through how it's dealt with rather than a lot descriptive imagery, there are interrogation and torture scenes later on in the story. But I had fun with this, and I hope you do too.

“Okay, listen up fellas this night's gonna be a busy one.” Hogan looked between his men, each with varying degrees of how much they wanted to be there but steadfast dedication regardless. “This assignment just came in from London. There's an Underground resistance group posted up in a camp a few miles outside of Hammelburg, and headquarters says they have vital information that needs to be passed along right away. Carter, your job is to meet with them at 0030 hours and pick it up.”

“Did they say what kind of information, sir?” Carter questioned.

“Your guess is as good as mine, all they said was the information is only to be passed along in person. According to one of our Underground agents they're in contact with, this resistance group is laying low and keeping a low profile for a while. London wants this information now, before the Gestapo can start sniffing around.”

“Well that makes me feel a whole lot better,” Newkirk said, taking a drag on his cigarette. “Go meet with someone but we can't tell you what it's for. You sure this is a one man job Guv? Sounds a tad risky if you ask me, I should go with him. Or maybe we shouldn't go at all.”

Hogan shook his head. Ideally he wanted to have someone with Carter as well, but this meeting had been added at the last minute and had to be squeezed in with their other plans. “The night goes as scheduled, the rest of you each have your own assignments. Newkirk, you'll be finishing up the uniforms and papers for our two agents, and then you're moving them out through the emergency tunnel tonight. Lebeau, I need you to translate for them so they understand. I don't think they took to Carter's English lessons very well-”

“Hey, I thought they understood me good enough!”

“It's understood _well_ , Carter.”

“Blimey, no wonder they didn't understand his English-”

Hogan shot Newkirk a glare, making the voluble pair quiet as they looked away. “And Kinch, you're on radio in case London sends any updates.”

“Why can't we split these up, _mon Colonel?_ ” Lebeau asked. “It seems like a lot for just one night.”

“Well I think we can do it,” Carter said, before glancing between the other three when they glared at him. “I mean... We've done more assignments in one night before.”

“Carter's right, we've done it before, and these assignments have to be done tonight. Now according to the latest troop intelligence we got from the Underground this morning, they were just diverted, the east and north of Hammelburg should be relatively free of German activity for most of the night,” Hogan said, gesturing to the hand drawn map of the surrounding area. “And then they'll be here and here-” his finger traced right over where they needed to go for the assignments- “for the next several weeks starting in the morning. So that leaves just a few hour window to work with.”

“I still say forget it. Last time we were delivery service for one of our contacts we almost ended up with the Gestapo,” Newkirk said.

“We can't just forgot it, London's ordering us to meet with them. We go tonight as scheduled,” Hogan reminded. “Now I want each of you to come back as soon as you're finished. No sneaking into the Hammelburg zoo-” Carter's ears turned a bright shade of red- “No stopping by the Hofbrau for a glass-” Newkirk started to fidget- “And no meeting with the farmer's daughter Heidi.” Lebeau let out an indigent protest. Hogan brought up his arm and pointed at his watch. “Time now is 2038. Who's in the guard tower by the tunnel tonight?”

“Copied the schedule from Klink's office this morning, it's Sergeant Neumann,” Kinch said.

 _At least we have one thing going for us tonight._ Neumann always preferred to keep his hands on a hot cup of coffee instead of the searchlight. “Perfect. Newkirk, Lebeau, you'll leave as soon as our guests are ready to go. Carter, you leave ten minutes after roll call. All of you will be in civilian outfits, we're trying to blend in. Any questions?”

* * *

 

It took all of Kinch's resolve to not drop the radio microphone when he fell back against the chair he was sitting in, his mind numb. _Newkirk was right, this assignment was a bad idea. This whole night was a bad idea._

“Papa Bear? I didn't quite get that response. Can you repeat?”

Swiping his hand across his face, he took a deep, shuddering breath to pull himself together as he brought the microphone back up to speak. “No need to repeat, message received loud and clear,” Kinch said. “...But to clarify, you said there were _none?”_

“That is correct, Papa Bear.”

With one more quiet acknowledgment, Kinch disconnected the radio and leaned against the table, his head falling into his hands.

Good _God,_ how the hell was he going to break this to the Colonel and the rest of the men?

* * *

 

Hogan poured himself his second cup of coffee that night despite his churning stomach, taking his first drink as his gaze shifted across the barracks and took in each of his men. Newkirk and Lebeau were already back and currently in the middle of a card game with a few other men from the barracks after bribing Schultz to stay up past lights out. Of the two left who were not accounted for, Kinch was down in the tunnel and Carter was still out on the assignment.

The sound of a distant rumble of thunder caused several of the men in Barracks 2 to look up.

“Didn't know we had rain coming in. Thought Schultzie said it was supposed to be clear tonight,” Newkirk commented.

“Yeah, well he's always wrong about the weather,” Lebeau said. “Remember a few weeks ago, when he said it would be clear? Took us four hours to get back it rained so hard, and then we all got sick.”

“Might be the next town over, it sounded far away. Hopefully it's away of here so Carter doesn't get caught up in it,” Hogan said.

“Speaking of Carter, c'mon Louis, you're almost as slow as he is. Hurry it up, will you?”

From his vantage point behind the game, Hogan quirked a smile as Newkirk drummed his fingers impatiently while he waited for Lebeau to make his move, his hand containing an almost winning set. The rest of the table was starting to complain as well, with a few taking either side.

“Who would not, when we are playing against you? _C'est impossible._ ”

“Then you should be good enough by now to pick a card within a reasonable amount of time.”

Only half listening to their continuing argument, Hogan took another sip, his mind too distracted on the present mission. It seemed _too_ easy, now that he had time to think about it. Normally German troops passed through the area surrounding Hammelburg on a regular basis several times a night, but to have almost an entire night suddenly clear of them? The resistance group had moved in recently but had already been checked out and verified by London and the few agents they were in contact with, so Hogan wasn't too suspicious of them.

But he wasn't one to ignore his gut sense that something was wrong, either. _Did I rush into this too soon without thinking?_

“Everything alright, _Colonel_? You don't look too good,” Lebeau said with concern, looking up from his hand of cards.

“Yeah. I don't think this coffee is agreeing with me.” It was partially true, but it didn't stop Hogan from taking another sip anyway, in need of a distraction for his whirring thoughts.

“I can make you a fresh one if you want,” Lebeau offered, but Hogan shook his head.

The only thing that would settle his stomach would be all of his men safe and back at camp.

When he heard the sound of the false bunk opening up several deals later, Hogan looked over to see Kinch climbing out at a slightly hurried pace and a worrying stumble.

“Just got a message from London, Colonel.”

Hogan took in Kinch's unusually grave face with a frown, immediately straightening up. _What do they want at this time of night? Another assignment? ...Did something go wrong?_ His stomach tightened a little more. “What'd they have to say?”

When the Sergeant didn't respond at first, several of the men in the barracks looked over with a various mix of interest, worry, and apprehension. Kinch's expression faltered for a moment, which made Hogan's own stomach twist in dread. He debated pulling him into his office, his gut instinct telling him that the burden of the incoming message should not fall on Kinch, but he spoke before Hogan got a chance.

“The resistance group...” By then the entire barracks stopped what they were doing when his voice faltered, their focus entirely on Kinch. “London said there was a bombing raid, didn't know about it until it was too late.” Hogan felt his mouth turn dry. A quick glance at his watch showed it was 0057 hours. “Leveled out their entire camp and the surrounding area within a minute.

“...They said there were no survivors.”

The mug slipped from his hand and crashed to the floor, shattering into pieces.

 


	2. Chapter 2

For a long moment, it was dead silent in Barracks Two. Several stood up in shock as the seconds ticked by, the heavy news slowly sinking in. Hogan felt his stomach drop; that rumble from earlier hadn't been thunder, it had been bombs. _How did we not know about this? How did London not know about this?_

Newkirk finally broke the silence, his face written with disbelief. “Bloody Hell- You're _kidding_ , right Kinch?”

“I wish I was,” Kinch said quietly.

“Well what about Carter? He was meeting with them, he was supposed to be there right now!” Lebeau cried, his accent thick with emotion as he gestured his arms wide while he spoke. He then broke out into a rush of distraught French.

“And how he's dead.” With a shake of his head and a humorless dry laugh, Newkirk banged his fist against his bunk post. “Fucking unbelievable.”

A quiet murmur broke out amidst a few of the men who knew little of the night's mission and had not yet made the horrific connection until now.

Hogan kept his voice low when Kinch moved to stand next to him, who was trying to avoid the broken shards of the mug. He had forgotten it had slipped from his hands until he heard the _crunch_ of a piece under the heavy boot. “Are they sure?”

When the Sergeant sighed and then nodded, Hogan felt his stomach twist even more. “I even asked them to repeat it just to make sure. Happened just after 0030 hours, the news came from our agent Little Bo Peep who was in contact with the resistance group. It's already been confirmed, took out the whole camp and then some.” Kinch paused, running a hand down his face as he blinked several times. “It was too late, they didn't have a chance.”

Hogan spared a quick glance at Carter's neatly made bunk, spotting an overturned book and a half written letter, and immediately regretted it. “And neither did Carter,” he finished, bringing a hand to his forehead as he pinched his brow. “Damn it.”

He had intended for his low tone to only be heard by his second in command, but Newkirk, who was pacing the floor while Lebeau hopelessly tried to talk to him, had instantly picked up on his words. “I told you I should have _gone_!” he yelled, rounding on Kinch and the Colonel. His eyes were glittering and fierce.

For a moment Hogan did not speak, his eyes not breaking contact as Newkirk stared him down with unspoken accusation. _How dare you send Carter off alone. Send him off to die_. If anything, Hogan felt it should have been himself to accompany Carter on the mission; it had been his own orders to send him out there by himself.

“And _now_ look what happened!” Newkirk continued when he didn't get a response, breathing heavy as his expression twisted in a snarl and his hands balled into fists. Hogan had seen him angry before, but never with this much raw anguish at the surface. “Did no good to him, did it? Now he's fucking _dead!_ ” By then a few of the men took a few cautious steps towards the Brit in case they needed to intervene, glancing anxiously between him and the Colonel.

“We knew nothing about that air raid. London knew nothing about it,” Hogan finally said, crossing his arms in an attempt to hold onto his own resolve that was quickly starting to slip away. “Do you think if I knew about it, I would have sent Carter out there? And if I sent you out with him, you would have gotten killed too.”

Newkirk opened his mouth to reply, but was cut off by Lebeau who had been unusually quiet after his initial outburst. “Pierre stop, the _Colonel_ is right.” His voice was thick and wobbly, his eyes red with unshed tears. “We didn't know this was going to happen, it's no one's fault. Don't feel bad, Andre wouldn't want that.”

At the mention of Carter's name, Newkirk heaved a cry of bitter frustration and stormed towards the false bunk, slamming his hand against the bunk frame before disappearing down the ladder.

“Newkirk-”

Lebeau moved to follow Newkirk, but Kinch held him back with an arm to his chest. “Let him go,” he said quietly. “He's grieving and just wants to be alone for a while. He won't do anything stupid.”

Hogan stared at the bunk when it closed behind him, almost half expecting the Brit to climb back out any second to yell at him some more.

“I can't believe he's actually gone...” Lebeau said as he sat back down. “Poor Carter.”

“I know Louis, I can't believe it either,” Kinch agreed, joining him with a comforting hand on his shoulder.

By then the low murmur returned, the rest of the barracks exchanging similar sentiments of disbelief and pity. Only Hogan remained in the middle of the room, still in shock.

_What the Hell did I just do?_

* * *

 

With a shaky hand, Newkirk lit up his third cigarette in a row, unable to sit still as he paced the tunnel. If the Colonel was there he would surely tell him to put it out, but he didn't give a damn what he would say at the moment. He had wanted to get away from everyone and be alone, but he quickly found it only made him even more anxious. The narrow earthy walls and dim flames, snuffed out to the bare minimum they kept at night, were almost claustrophobic. And the tunnels dampened almost all the noise except for the occasional fall of dirt, leaving an almost eerie silence.

Newkirk grabbed an empty beaker Carter had left near the radio, the front of which had a scribbled formula known only to the chemist. Juggling it in his hand for a moment, he hurled it against the wall, cracking the top of the glass before it fell to the dirt ground with a muffled _thump_.

_Carter was dead._

The combination of too many cigarettes too quickly on an empty stomach and the stress of the night was making him feel sick. But he didn't care. In a twisted way Newkirk almost _wanted_ it, if only because the physical pain was a distraction that took away from the gaping raw hole in his chest and the gnawing at his throat. The grief, of course, still outweighed everything.

It always did.

Newkirk was at least glad no one was around when the gnawing became too much and the first ugly sob tore through him.

* * *

 

“I should have known something was off.”

Hogan didn't bother to look when he heard the door open as someone shuffled inside and then quietly close behind him, a candle casting deep shadows across the previously dark room. He sat at his desk as he nursed the glass of schnapps that Newkirk had smuggled in from town several weeks ago. It was watered down to almost nothing so they could share with the whole barracks and was now room temperature, but the burn going down was just satisfying enough.

“Off? What do you mean?” Kinch asked. He had forgone the alcohol and went with a rare indulgence of a pack of cigarettes, lighting one up as he took a seat on the edge of the desk.

Hogan was glad it was Kinch who joined him after mulling in silence for the past few hours; his composed second in command was one of the few men he felt comfortable confiding to. “Half of Hammelburg pulled away German troops for almost an entire night at the last minute. They never pull troops, the whole area always has krauts passing through,” he said, shaking his head.

“You said it yourself Colonel, we didn't know about the air raid,” Kinch said. “How were we supposed to know something was up?”

“Maybe not.” Hogan downed the rest of his drink in one shot. It was one thing to reassure someone else, but something else entirely to convince himself. “I still should have never sent Carter out on that mission. Hell, I risked Newkirk, Lebeau, and our two agents' lives without even realizing it.”

“Colonel...”

“And I didn't think a damn thing about it. Even planned the whole assignment around it, thought we just had a lucky break. Should've known they were pulled because they were going to bomb the whole damn place.”

Hogan's own thoughts were turbulent, the guilt eating him alive. It was always known, in the back of all of their minds, that there was always the risk of one of them not coming back from an assignment. That thought especially lingered in his own mind when he sent his men out alone, but... To send Carter out on a hastily planned mission without seeing the red flags that it was going to be a disaster? The signs were practically right in front of him.

“How's Newkirk doing?” Hogan finally said, switching the subject.

“He's calmed down some, I checked on him a little while ago. Lebeau's with him now,” Kinch said. “You know he doesn't blame you, but... He's taking it pretty rough.”

Hogan had figured as much. Newkirk was as loyal as he was fierce, and the pair, despite their sometimes strange friendship, were close. He'd have to sit down and talk with him tomorrow when hopefully everything settled down a bit.

Checking the time, he winced when he saw how close it was to roll call. They didn't have much time. “If they trace Carter back to the air raid on that resistance group and then to the Underground, it could be the end of the whole operation,” Hogan said. “Hundreds, maybe even thousands of lives could be at risk.”

“So what do we do now? Carter's dead, and now Klink's no escape record is blown.”

Hogan rubbed at his eyes, his headache still lingering despite the aspirin he took hours ago. The fate of the entire Underground network was a burden he never liked having to take on, and losing Carter on top of it made the weight on his shoulders almost unbearable.

“Kinch... Go get Newkirk and Lebeau, and tell them to go out the emergency tunnel. Use escape points A and C, and tell them to wait there until I come and get them. If we can make it look like an escape, then we might have a chance of getting away with it. And keep radio contact open until roll call in case anyone contacts us.”

“Yes sir.”

Hogan didn't meet Kinch's eyes when the Sergeant gave him one last concerned look before leaving his office, the door closing as he was left in the darkness once again. He had a lot to think about.

* * *

 

He woke up to a hot feeling of nausea and a spinning head as a faint light shone on his closed eyelids. It was already morning, hadn't he left sometime after evening roll call? He frowned when he tried to remember, his memory of the last few hours fuzzy. Great, what did he mess up this time? He felt groggy, had he fallen asleep outside while on a mission again? Man, he was really going to hear it from the guys when he finally got back to camp.

Swallowing down the need to throw up, Carter managed to crack open his eyes. His vision was blurry, but he was just able to make out a faint orange glow on the horizon. But something was off. The air was heavy and tasted funny, almost like the times when his explosions went a little awry in the tunnel and blew up on him. He couldn't hear right. And he hurt, and it hurt to breathe...

Blinking several times to clear his vision, his eyes widened when he realized, with mounting dread, that the light wasn't actually the sunrise he was looking at, but instead was the nearby glow of a still smoldering forest fire-

_He was running late. It was already thirty minutes past midnight and when he was supposed to meet with the contact, but he was still several minutes away. He had accidentally grabbed Newkirk's phony compass they sometimes used to fool the guards, and had to waste a good chunk of time digging for his real one._

_Finally, he had to strain his eyes but he could barely make out what looked like a very simple and primitive camp hidden in the thickest part of the woods, which almost reminded him of back home-_

_Carter heard the frighteningly familiar whistle only seconds before the resonating BOOM echoed through the woods. Bombing, from somewhere up above, he realized with horror; he was in such a rush he hadn't even paid attention enough to hear the plane. He backed away from where the blast had hit, straining up to see if he could see anything._

_BOOM!_

_The force and surprise of the closer second blast knocked him off his feet as he watched the shadow of smoke rise and trees fall in the growing flame of the fire._

_BOOM!_

_Another one from behind him, even closer than the first two. It was too dark to see anything incoming and he couldn't hear the high pitched whistle of them falling anymore, so Carter stayed low to ground, curling up and covering his head to make himself as small of a target as possible._

The rest of the night was fuzzy, with only a few vague memories of getting back up and trying to run when the bombs hit too close, and then pain. The last thing he remembered before a worryingly blank space of nothing was the thought of _this is it_. But he had survived, either by miracle or dump luck he wasn't sure (nor did he want to jinx it). As for the resistance group... Closing his eyes, he let out a slow and shaky breath. They surely did not survive.

“Holy cow...” Carter whispered, wincing when the movement of his jaw stabbed at his head, which was already throbbing in time with his racing pulse. Out of instinct he raised his hand to put pressure on it, but immediately stopped when a stinging pain shot up his arm. Looking down, it was too dark to see any kind of injury, but the dim light reflected shiny liquid that ran down his sleeve.

Swallowing, he had to look away as the lightheadedness started to return. It was one thing if it was someone else's blood, that he could deal with although he didn't like it, but this was his own, and he couldn't see where it came from. _Now I see why Lebeau gets so queasy. I'll never make fun of him for fainting again._

Once the throbbing settled down into a dull ache, Carter assessed his current situation. He was laying on his side, with outlines of several broken trees and limbs scattered nearby. It was a miracle none of them had fallen on him, although he felt the weight of smaller branches that had. The fire seemed to have run its course enough that it would not cause any danger, and luckily the wind was calm so it wouldn't pick back up. Unfortunately his watch was cracked and probably broken, so he didn't even know how long he had been out for.

Moving more careful this time, he started to look over himself, straining to see any other injuries. He grimaced when he saw more dark stains splattered across his clothes; part of him was worried about what he would find underneath, the other part glad he couldn't see. Shifting to try and sit up, he immediately gasped and gritted his teeth when he jostled his arm and hot searing pain shot up it.

Gritting his teeth, Carter took a deep breath to ease the pain and keep himself calm. _Oh boy, how am I going to get out of this one?_ Deep down he knew it wasn't his fault and more of a case of wrong place at the wrong time, but he couldn't help but think that of course this would happen when _he_ was out on a mission.

Whatever it was that happened, he wasn't sure, but Carter did know he had to get out of the area and back to camp, and fast. It wouldn't be long before the area would be loaded with Krauts, and he wanted to put as much distance as he could between them and himself. He was sure the guys were worried about him by now, and the last thing he wanted to do was have them search for him out in this mess. But how? He could barely even move, and he was miles away from Hammelburg and even further from camp-

“ _Halt! Wer ist da!_ ”

The voice was muffled, but Carter could barely make out the angry German command. He froze, trying to make himself as small and quiet as possible to avoid detection, but they already found him. The sudden shine of a flashlight blinded him seconds before he felt himself being roughly pulled up.

“You!” His hearing was partially gone, but the voice was still loud as it hissed in his face. “Who are you? You're not from here!”

Carter kicked out blindly towards where he thought his assailant was, ignoring the pain that flared up his body, before his world went dark.

 


	3. Chapter 3

Roll call was a quiet affair that morning, with little of the usual griping of having to get up early and stand in the cold. Those who made an attempt at normalcy were halfhearted at best. The guards seemed to notice something was off with the prisoners and were all on edge, looking around with a suspicious eye as they kept their rifles close.

“ _Ein, zwei, drei...”_

Most of the men were groggy as well, having spent most of the night either trying to get a few hours of sleep, or had not even bothered at all. Hogan himself had laid down for about twenty minutes before roll call, although his mind was too anxious to feel too tired at the moment. Sleepless nights only came with the territory anyway, and he barely gave the matter a second thought.

“ _Zehn, elf, zwolf, dreiz...”_

Schulz paused in mid count, a puzzled expression crossing over his face before it quickly morphed into panic. He shot an anxious look towards Klink's office, who had yet to come out. “Colonel Hogan... I counted twelve men, Colonel Hogan.” He glanced back at the line up as he silently counted them out again, just to be safe. “Why am I not counting fifteen, there are supposed to be fifteen men here for roll call!”

Hogan kept his face straight as he tried not to think that the most Schultz was going to count after today would be fourteen. “Sounds like there's been an escape, Schultz.”

“A-An _escape_?” His eyes went wide as he stuttered, shifting between the roll call list and Hogan. “Colonel Hogan _pl-eeease_ , you know I don't like that word!”

“I'm afraid it's true. Carter, Newkirk, and Lebeau took off last night.”

“You promised me no monkey business last night,” Schultz continued, looking desperately between the Colonel and the barracks door as if the three missing prisoners were going to come through at the last minute. “I let you stay up after lights out, and now there are prisoners missing when they should not be missing! Where-”

“REPOOORT!”

Schultz made a strangled noise at the sound of Klink's bellow, giving Hogan one last silent plea before turning around and meeting Klink with a shaky salute.

“H-Herr Kommandant, I beg to report that last night three prisoners escaped,” Schultz said.

“An _escape?_ That's impossible!” Klink said. “No one can escape out of my camp, count them again Schultz, you must have the wrong number.”

Schultz winced, looking like he wanted to be anywhere else at the moment as he handed him the roll call list. “I-It's true, I counted them myself, and then counted again just to be sure. Corporals Lebeau and Newkirk, and Sergeant Carter are missing.”

When the Sergeant's expression only grew more restless under his stare, Klink turned around and started to shout and point towards the other guards. “Prisoners have escaped! Sound the alarms! Release the dogs! Schultz, I want all of these men back inside until further notice. No more escapes, you understand me?”

Chaos broke out at Klink's orders as several guards broke out of formation, shouting commands as they readied to leave camp. The sound of barking dogs followed shortly after from the excitement as they were leashed and let out of their cage.

“Everybody back to the barracks! _Raus, raus!”_ This time the men protested, which made Schultz yell even louder to be heard over them. “Kommandant's orders! You are restricted to the barracks until further notice! Now _raus,_ everybody back to the barracks!”

When he saw Klink heading his way, Hogan quickly pulled aside the men who had yet to go back inside. “Foster, Olsen, I want you to keep an eye on the place, look out for anyone coming into camp or anything unusual. And tell the rest of the men to be on their best behavior. Baker, take over the radio for Kinch while he rests,” he said, giving his second in command a knowing look that meant his words were an order. “Monitor any calls from Klink's office, I want to know everything that's come and gone when I get back.”

As soon as he ushered them into the barracks, Klink was in his face and unhappy. “Colonel Hogan what is the meaning of this?” he demanded. “ _Three_ escapes in one night? I thought I told you to shut down that escape committee!”

“Sir you have my word the escape committee is gone,” Hogan said. “Listen Kommandant, I believe I know where to look, so if you let me go with Sergeant Schultz, I might be able to bring them back.”

“And let you outside of camp? So you can escape too? This sounds like one of your tricks.”

“Well sir, you've always been a favorite amongst my men, and if you had to explain how _three_ men escaped-” Hogan let out a whistle- “Well that could put you up for the Russian Front, and we don't want to see you leave. It's bad for morale.” Klink's face turned thoughtful as he played into his words.

“Now, I would have never believed it at the time, but I think I overheard them last night planning where they were going to escape...”

* * *

 

Lebeau pulled his thin sweater around himself tighter as he crossed his arms over his chest, shifting so his back was mostly to the wind. In his haste to make it out of the tunnel before roll call, he had forgotten to grab his scarf and hat. During the day the temperature wasn't too bad as the weather clung to the last bit of summer, but the cold seeped in quickly once the sun set, and took forever to warm back up. At least he didn't have much longer to go, it was already well past roll call and the Colonel rarely kept them waiting any longer than he had to.

The last several hours had passed by like a blur; they almost felt like a dream. His own assignment escorting the French agents, getting the new's about Carter's death, and then rushing out to sit outside in the cold until Hogan picked him up... The events of the night all twisted into one horrible nightmare that he wished he could simply wake up from.

A cloud covered the rays of the already meager sunlight, causing Lebeau to shiver again. He would give anything to be back at camp. It was too quiet out here by himself, and after being a POW for so long, he had long grown accustomed to the hustle and bustle and noise that came with it (and in an odd way it almost reminded him of home). Especially having to deal with losing Carter, Lebeau found he didn't want to have to deal with that alone, but amongst the company of close friends.

At least the Colonel would be there soon. Lebeau just hoped he picked him up first.

* * *

 

Carter's head was pounding even worse when he woke up the second time, the bright overhead lamp burning and left him feeling dizzy as he opened his eyes. The pain in the rest of his body hit him almost immediately along with the previous night's (day? How long had he been out for?) memories, his muscles stiff from his injuries and the hard backed chair he was now sitting in.

His outer jacket was gone, which left a chill that made him shiver. Through the tears in his remaining clothing, Carter noticed with a churning stomach, he could see several burns, bruises, and cuts, including a particularly large and deep one on his right arm. So that's where the blood had come from. It was hard to tell from his current angle, but he hoped it at least stopped bleeding.

His wrists were tied together to a bar on the back of the chair with wire wrapped several times around, and his ankles were tied to each leg in a similar fashion. Carefully testing his bindings, he noted with dismay there wasn't enough give to be able to work them off, and they bit even painfully tighter into his skin the more he moved.

And he had thought he was in a bad spot before. _Boy, now this is just the icing with the cake._ At least they didn't string him up by his thumbs, although as he thought about it, that might've been easier to get out of.

When he finally looked up after his eyes adjusted to the light, Carter was greeted with an impatient looking man dressed in a neatly pressed suit, with a trench coat and matching hat to complete the outfit; he knew the all too familiar sight terribly well: undercover Gestapo. He pushed down the slowly rising panic.

“Good, I was hoping you would wake up soon,” the man spoke in German. Carter's hearing was still muffled, but was at least better than before. “You and I are going to have a nice talk today. Let's start with your name?”

Carter racked his brain, debating what he should do. The Colonel had always said only give name, rank, and serial number if any of them were ever questioned, but... Then he would look suspicious being a prisoner of war carrying fake papers. And if they traced his actual name back to Stalag 13 after suspecting even the slightest involvement in the Underground, he could put his friends in danger and in front of a firing squad. It could mean a dangerous end to the whole operation.

Pressing his lips together, Carter stayed silent.

“I will assume you want me to think you were taking a walk in the woods. At night, in the middle of a forest fire,” the man continued. Carter decided to call him Fritz.

“Silence does not prove your innocence, it only shows you are guilty. As does this. You should know it's illegal for civilians to carry firearms.” He pulled out the pistol that Carter had been carrying and dangling it in front of him. “And... Firecrackers? So where did you get this?”

Fritz continued to speak, but Carter instead tuned him out to focus on his surroundings. He had to figure out a way out of this, and fast. The man had taken his gun and firecrackers, and he assumed his knife was gone as well, which limited him on weapons he could use. The room was simple and bare, with little in it other than Fritz and himself. There were no windows, so he could only guess as to the time of day-

Carter saw the flash of movement out of the corner of his eye before he felt the sudden punch to his face. Blood spurted from his nose that coincided with a sharp _crack_ , and he couldn't help but let out a hiss as it immediately flared in pain.

“If you don't want to listen to my words, perhaps that is easier to understand, yes?” There were very few things Carter truly hated, and this man was quickly growing to the top of that list. “You look like you've already have a long night, so let's make this quick and easy for you.”

_Keep your mouth shut Andrew, don't talk and don't give out anything about the operation. The Colonel and the guys back at camp are counting on me. What was Kinch always telling me? Right... Observe, assess, and find the solution... I just hope you guys are okay back at camp._

“Last night our intelligence operation took down the reported location of a dangerous guerrilla rebellion group that recently moved into the area.” So it _was_ already morning, and it sounded like he was still in Hammelburg at least, not that he trusted a Kraut by their word. “We also suspect that group had ties to an underground network responsible for dozens of acts of sabotage in the area.”

Carter felt blood start to trickle down his throat, tasting the copper at the back of his mouth, and resisted the urge to throw up. His eyes followed Fritz as he slowly walked around him, looking down on him almost like he was sizing him up. _He wants answers but he ain't gonna get 'em,_ he told himself as he tried to push back the growing fear.

Fritz stopped when he was in front of Carter. “Intelligence said there were twelve people involved in that group, and we counted twelve bodies at the site.” Guess that made him the unlucky thirteen then. “So just who the hell are you? Why were you there, why were you carrying illegal weapons?”

When he still did not get an answer, Fritz punched Carter twice more, once again to the face and then to his stomach with enough force to have him gasping for air. The sudden blow pulled at his already strained muscles and caused him to almost choke on the blood that was still running down his throat as he instinctively inhaled.

“It's early yet,” Fritz said once Carter managed to still his coughing. The German gave him a look that reeked of contempt. “I have orders to interrogate you until you talk. Sooner or later we'll get the information we want, it's up to you how we'll do it.”

* * *

 

Despite Hogan's order to get some rest, Kinch had spent most of the morning tossing and turning in his bunk. The little bit of sleep he did manage to get was plagued with images of bombs, fire, and Carter, which woke him up as quickly as he had drifted off. It didn't help, either, that the men were still confined to the barracks for most of the time and kept him up with their morning routine mixed with complaining.

When Langenscheidt finally came in to announce that the barracks restriction was lifted, Kinch gave up on trying to sleep. He was starting to get restless and needed fresh air anyway; Colonel Hogan had been gone for several hours at that point, and should have been back by now. Images from his earlier nightmares started to return, before he pushed them out of his head. The Colonel, Newkirk, and Lebeau were fine.

After checking with Baker down in the radio room and sending a message to London, he was just about to head outside when he ran into Olsen coming in through the door. “Truck coming through the gates, Kinch,” he said, pointing his thumb over his shoulder.

Pushing past Olsen, Kinch watched with a wary eye as the truck pulled in front of Klink's office, relaxing when he saw Hogan jump out of the back followed by Newkirk and Lebeau. All three of them looked weary, the latter two stumbling a bit as they caught their footing, and were silent as Schultz ushered them into the office with a bellow that echoed across the quiet compound.

Olsen let out a low whistle as they watched the scene. “Haven't seen Schultz this mad in a while.”

“Probably because he has to tell Klink he only came back with two.”

His thoughts continuously drifted back to the safety of their operation while he waited for them to finish, watching a game of football to pass time, although the attempt was halfhearted at best. He knew the Colonel had a handle on it and could probably even talk Klink into joining the US Army, but with having one prisoner (permanently, unbeknownst to the Germans) unaccounted for, it was still cutting it close.

It was nearly an hour later that Hogan finally came out of Klink's office. Looking around to make sure the area was clear of guards, Hogan came up and leaned against their barracks wall next to Kinch. “Anything happen while I was gone?”

“Not that I've heard, it's been quiet all morning. They lifted barracks restrictions right before you came back,” Kinch said.

“At least we have one thing going for us,” Hogan said. “I also managed to talk Klink out of a cooler sentence. Lebeau told him thirty days in the cooler meant no work detail and was hardly a punishment. Now they're on daily work detail instead.”

“I'm sure they were happy about that. At least they won't be cooped up in a cell for a month, although I think we'll hear them complain about too much work by the end of the week,” Kinch said. He had seen Lebeau not too long ago when he passed by with a quiet greeting, but he had yet to see Newkirk after he left the office. “Did they say anything about not being able to find Carter?”

“Schultz is still upset, but he's not talking about the Russian Front anymore at least. There's still a few guards out looking.” Hogan paused for a moment before continuing, a shadow passing over his face as his voice somber. “We passed near where they bombed last night. Couldn't get an up close look, but the whole area was leveled almost to the ground. I tried to pry Schultz to get the dope about what might've happened, but he didn't know anything about it.”

“Sounds like they're being pretty quiet about it then,” Kinch suggested. “When I spoke to London, they said they don't have any leads yet either.”

Hogan turned to face him, his brow furrowed in annoyance and concern. “Spoke to London? I thought I said to get some rest? Baker was supposed to be on radio,” he said, crossing his arms.

“I tried, sir,” Kinch said, holding up his hands in defense. “But between barracks restriction, and everything that happened last night with losing Carter, well I was better off just staying up.”

“No, I can't say I blame you for that,” Hogan said, dropping the subject as he diverted his gaze with a faraway look, not unlike the one from the night before. Whatever was on the Colonel's mind, he didn't divulge, and Kinch didn't ask.

When Hogan didn't continue after a moment, Kinch finally broke the silence. “You know, I probably should've told it to him before, but Carter was one Hell of a good guy. I know we ragged on him a lot, but... It won't be the same without him.”

Hogan pressed his lips together as he looked down and wiped a hand over his eyes, Kinch's words no doubt cutting deep. And with an ever subtle nod of his head after a pause, Hogan agreed.

 


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you're liking this so far, please feel free to leave a comment to let me know, I love hearing from you guys!

Pale light filtered through the small gap in the wooden slats of the roof above his bunk; it was long past lights out, but Newkirk found himself unable to sleep. His body felt weighed down and exhausted after spending the better part of two days awake and running around, yet when he laid down he had trouble even closing his eyes, his mind too wound up to relax.

His bunk was unnaturally still; normally he would be thankful that for once Carter wasn't moving around, shaking the frame and keeping him up. But after having learned to deal with it every night for over a year, he had gotten used to it, and now that it was gone he found he couldn't sleep without it.

Rolling over, he looked down to see the bunk below neatly made and untouched. The book and letter were still sitting on the blanket from the day before, both only half finished and waiting for an owner who would never return.

None of them had the heart to move them yet.

A brisk gust blew through the cracks, prompting Newkirk to pull his blanket around him tighter and retreat back to the middle of his bunk. Normally that would be when he would wake Carter up to complain about it or, if he was feeling particularly devious, get him to switch bunks for the night (“but you're used to the cold and wind, mate! You're always talking about those Midwest winters, consider it a challenge.”) They would fight for a minute, much to Lebeau's annoyance, but Carter would always switch with him in the end, even if Newkirk did sometimes wake up the next morning to find his blanket had been stolen.

Blinking several times, Newkirk swiped a quick hand over his eyes. _God,_ he wished Carter was still alive.

* * *

 

Day one faded into day two, but it wasn't much better. At least today Hogan was working with a few more hours of sleep, although he wasn't sure if he could call them restful. They had been restricted to the barracks an hour early each night as part of a camp wide punishment for the escape attempt (and “success”), which had upset several who wanted to take advantage of the last bit of warm weather while it lasted, but he had shut down their objections to keep the peace and the still on edge guards happy.

A few of the men were were playing a round of poker in the barracks, but most of them weren't fully involved in the game. Carter's bunk, which was often used as a fill in for a seat when the benches were full, was now avoided almost like it was diseased. There was none of the usual banter or Red Cross package bets and Newkirk, usually the head of the table as the dealer, was keeping to himself in his bunk.

“Have some soup, _Colonel,_ it's still fresh.” Lebeau came up to where Hogan was standing by the stove, handing him a small steaming bowl. “I don't think I've seen you eat all day, you must be hungry.”

_Only you would keep track of everyone's eating habits. What would I do without you?_ “Thanks, Lebeau,” Hogan said as he took the bowl with a small smile. His stomach twisted at the thought of eating, but Lebeau did have a point. And the soup smelled delicious.

Lebeau dropped his voice, looking around to make sure no one was around to overhear. “I tried to get Newkirk to eat something, but he refused and snapped at me. I'm worried about him,” he said.

From their vantage point, he could see the Brit attempting to write a letter, but the paper looked to be mostly words scribbled out. Hogan had attempted to talk to him earlier, but Newkirk had been short with him the entire time. The conversation had been painful.

“He's taking it rough, he's still pretty upset,” Hogan said with a sigh. They of course were all were taking it rough, but Carter's death hit Newkirk especially hard. “I know he hasn't been sleeping well either. I'll give him some time, and I'll talk to him tomorrow morning. In-”

Upon hearing the sound of tunnel entrance opening up, Hogan looked over to see Kinch climbing up the ladder. “Message just came in from the Underground, sir,” Kinch said.

“A message?” Hogan asked, furrowing his brow as he took the small piece of folded paper that was handed to him. “It's about an assignment.” He looked back up at Kinch. “I thought you told the Underground and London that we weren't taking any assignments for a while?”

“I did, but they said it was urgent, priority one.” Kinch shrugged helplessly when Hogan sighed. “The Underground in Hammelburg pulled out of operations for a while too after that bombing raid, so they're asking us to do it.”

_Seems shutting down means something different to everyone._

“Just what we need, another bleeding mission,” Newkirk complained, dropping the paper he was writing on as he threw his hands up in exasperation.

“Can't we get a break for a few days? Tell the Underground to get someone else to do it,” Lebeau said, crossing his arms in a firm stance.

“I tried to tell them that, but they insisted we take care of it,” Kinch said.

Hogan looked back down at the paper and started to skim it over. “It's from Little Bo Peep. Says he wants to meet us at 2200 hours tonight at the usual rendezvous point by Hammelburg Road and bring him in through the tunnel.” At least it was a fairly straightforward assignment in a familiar and relatively safe area. “He says he has critical information for us, but it doesn't say...” Flipping the paper back and forth, he tried to find more about it but was frustrated when he couldn't find any. “Did you get anything about what the meeting's for, Kinch?”

He shook his head. “I tried to ask, but he didn't want to say in case the information got compromised,” he said.

Of course. With a weary sigh, Hogan crumpled the paper with his fist and tossed it into the stove. “Tell them message acknowledged and accepted. Lebeau, you'll go out through the tunnel after roll call. Newkirk, you'll go with him as backup. In the meantime I'll come up with a plan in case we need to dodge Klink's patrols outside the wire.”

* * *

 

The Gestapo worked in shifts; Carter, however, had to be there twenty-four seven. The interrogations were nonstop. Felix replaced Hans who replaced Fritz (and was there another one in there he was forgetting?), but they all eventually blurred together in a haze of pain and exhaustion. How long had he been there now? It felt like an eternity since the air raid that got him into this mess.

His arm was burning up through his shoulder, a developing infection running deep. The wire binding his wrists strained and twisted at the wound, and had already started to dig into his skin with a sharp and biting pain in his struggles. Funny, he thought, how part of his arm could be numb and hurt at the same time. His bones were stiff as he tried to shift to a less stressful position; he suppressed a hiss when sharp jolts shot up his body.

Breathing was near impossible, his chest flaring in agony from his cracked ribs whenever he did so much as inhale too deep, and his broken nose was still clotted with blood. It didn't seem like his captors were too worried about keeping him fed either. His stomach was knotted in hunger, and after going so long without eating, even Lebeau's Bee-a-bass fish soup sounded good.

Carter shivered as a chill passed through the thin fabric of his clothes. Even in early fall, the stone walls leeched any heat that might have been in the air. It felt like he would never be able to get warm, the cold seeping down to his aching bones. Right now he'd do anything to be on his own lumpy mattress with his threadbare blanket back at camp.

_I just want to go home._

And he was so _tired,_ they kept him awake for what must have been several days now, and he wanted to rest, only for a few minutes. The lack of sleep was eating away at his resolve, it felt like he was slowly going insane. Pulling an all nighter for a mission or to dig a tunnel was one thing, doing those he always had a sense of control and a stopping point to look forward to. He wasn't alone, starving, terrified out of his mind and in pain. Sleep, that's all he wanted... Closing his eyes, his head dipped forward as he started to nod off, unable to keep his eyes open.

He furrowed his brow in annoyance when he heard a sharp snapping sound next to him, wishing whatever it was would leave him alone so he could just rest...

Suddenly a bucket of ice water was dumped over his head, causing him to jolt awake and sputter. “ _Wachen Sie auf!_ ” Felix (or was it someone else now?) was in his face, the permeating smell of schnapps on his breath from when _he_ got to eat making his twisting and empty stomach churn even more. When Carter gave no response, still in a daze from the shock of cold water and a feeling akin to almost drowning, Felix grabbed him by the collar and gave him a hard shake, making him let out a cry of pain when it jostled at his injuries. “The names! I want the names of who you're working with!”

_Be Kinch. Keep calm no matter what. Be Kinch- Oh God- and keep calm._

Felix grabbed onto his already throbbing arm and started to violently twist. Carter's cry of pain turned into a scream as he began to fight his restraints, which pulled at his broken ribs and fueled the agony even further when white searing fire coursed through his chest. Black dots danced in his peripheral vision, and warm liquid dripped down his hands as the wire bit in.

His body was shaking, both from the cold and overwhelming stress. A few tears trickled down his face, the warmth a stark contrast from the icy water that was still dripping from his bangs and felt almost hot against his skin. He was stretched thin and almost to his limits, but every time he came close to his breaking point, he forced himself to remember what was at stake. The Colonel, his friends, the whole camp and operation, possibly hundreds of lives...

“Give me the god damn names!”

But he wasn't sure how much longer he could hold on.

* * *

 

Hogan paced in the radio room, his arms crossed as he waited for his two men to return. Luckily his unease was only because their loss of Carter was still so fresh, and not the actual creeping unease that had been the last mission... But it didn't make him feel any better. Glancing at his watch for the forth time, he gritted his teeth out of thinly suppressed frustration. “They should've been back fifteen minutes ago. What's taking them so long?”

“Lebeau and Newkirk will be fine, sir. They're not even half a mile outside the wire. Klink still has a few extra guards patrolling outside, they probably had to take one of the alternate routes to dodge some,” Kinch reassured him. “It's nothing we haven't had to do before, they know what they're doing.”

Hogan opened his mouth to reply, but was cut off by a clamoring sound near the emergency exit. _Finally! About time._ Newkirk and Lebeau were out of breath by the time they got to the radio room, with their contact Little Bo Peep trailing shortly behind them.

“Blimey, those guards are relentless!” Newkirk said as he took the canteen Kinch offered, taking a long drink before handing it to Lebeau. “Klink must've doubled them up almost around the whole fence!”

“ _Oui_ , took us five minutes to wait for a gap so we could make it to the tunnel without being spotted. You would think we were in an actual prison!” Lebeau added.

Hogan chose to ignore the pointed look Kinch shot his way. “Well the important thing is you made it back here safe,” he said, handing his men towels to wipe off the black paint. He then moved to shake hands with Little Bo Peep, aka Gerhard Richter, one of their main Hammelburg Underground contacts. “Good to see you're doing well.”

“It's good to see you as well, Hogan. I can't thank you enough for making time to see me,” Richter replied, his handshake firm but quick.

“It's the least we can do,” Hogan said. “Now, you said you have information for us?”

“I do. I hate to be so short notice, but I'm afraid our operation could very well be in trouble,” Richter said, his tight smile quickly dropping into a somber expression. “I'm sure you already know, the other night there was a bombing mission on a nearby guerrilla resistance group that the Underground was in contact with.”

“I've heard,” Hogan said grimly, his lips in a thin line. _Great, can't we just let sleeping dogs lie and forget about this already?_ He didn't want the additional reminders of that night. “I lost one of my men in that air raid, Sergeant Carter. He was meeting with them when the air raid hit.”

Richter looked confused at first, before his expression shifted to astonishment. Hogan only frowned in confusion. “Caught in the air raid? I thought-” Richter shook his head. “Your man Carter, he's not _dead_ , Hogan. You see, Gestapo picked up a member of the Underground near their camp the same night of the air raid. He was meeting with the resistance group when the camp was bombed, and as a matter of fact _I_ helped arrange that meeting.”

As Richter spoke, Hogan's eyes slowly widened in shock and incredulity as he processed just exactly what he was saying.

_Carter wasn't dead._

Hogan couldn't believe it. Only Carter could somehow survive something like an air raid, especially after he had seen the damage that had been done himself; Hogan wasn't sure how he managed it, but Carter seemed to have a lucky streak unlike one he'd ever seen when it came to explosions and bombs, and it seemed by some miracle he had done it again.

“That's your man, Hogan.”

“ _Mon Colonel...”_ Lebeau trailed off after Hogan's uncharacteristic silence, his eyes wide as he looked about ready to dart down the tunnel and get Carter out himself. The others were catching on as well, exchanging anxious looks as they perked up.

“If this isn't a lucky break then I don't know what is,” Kinch said.

Suddenly Hogan was overcome with an overwhelming sense of guilt for instantly assuming Carter had been dead when they received the news. Looking back, he should have _verified_ , went out there himself just to confirm, even if it meant putting himself at risk.

His head was swirling when Hogan stepped up to Richter, placing a hand on his shoulder. “Are you sure?” he finally asked, his voice taut.

“Our Underground intelligence already confirmed the entire resistance group is dead,” Richter said. Hogan closed his eyes; in the rush of trying to cover for the operation, he hadn't spared much of a thought to the others who had been lost. And while he may not have known them, it was always difficult to be reminded of death for their cause. “He was spotted in town getting taken in that night, he's the only one who survived. It's him.”

“And you're just _now_ telling us this?” Lebeau burst out, stepping forward next to Hogan. “Carter's with the Gestapo, you _know_ what they have done to people! They could be doing anything to him, anything!”

“Easy, Lebeau,” Hogan said, placing a hand on the Frenchman's shoulder, but the smaller man didn't back up.

“My apologies it took so long, if we could have told you earlier we would have,” Richter said, his face written with regret. “The Underground pulled all activity after he was taken in and Hammelburg has soldiers everywhere, I was only about to get out of town tonight.”

“I understand, and I can't thank you enough for coming out all this way and letting us know. I know it couldn't have been easy,” Hogan said, before his face turned somber as they had to deal with the now immediate situation. “Is Carter okay? Do you know where he is now?”

“I don't know his current condition, but I know he's alive. Right now he's being held in a warehouse the Gestapo took over in Hammelburg, they're questioning him for any possible leads for connections to the Underground.”

“Questioning, sure they are. And the German army's out there picking daisies. We've got to get Carter out of there, Guv'nor!” Newkirk exclaimed. “We can't leave him in the hands of those bloody bastards!”

“Newkirk is right _,_ you've seen what those _boche_ can do,” Lebeau said.

Hogan silenced his protesting men with a quick cutting motion. He wanted Carter out of there as well, but it did no one any good if they rushed into it without a laid out plan. That was how they had gotten into this mess in the first place. “Don't worry fellas, we'll get Carter out of there. Right now the Gestapo is going to have a change of plans in the form of an unexpected visitor. Us.”

 


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can't remember if the Gestapo have actual ranks, but they do now. This is it, last chapter, I hope you enjoy.

“How's it look outside, Newkirk?”

“A bit better than it was before, sir. Two guards patrolling out near the exit, I'd say about ten seconds between each pass. If we time it right, we can slip by when they're not looking. Down periscope.”

“Sounds like getting out of here should be doable,” Hogan said. “Alright fellas, let's run this mission by one more time. Richter left us his car parked out in the woods by Hammelburg road, we take that into town and break Carter out. Kinch, you're monitoring any calls that come in or out, and on radio backup in case something goes south.”

_I just hope nothing does._ The plan sounded simple enough, but his mind was already buzzing with several dozen ways it could go wrong, and a dozen more workarounds in case it did.

“Weapons check?”

“All tested and loaded. They're working fine,” Lebeau reported.

“And I fitted all the uniforms with our papers,” Newkirk said.

“Good, sounds like we're set to go.” Hogan went to climb the ladder before instead turning to face Newkirk and Lebeau, dressed in their neatly pressed Gestapo uniforms. “And one last thing. This mission is dangerous, we're walking right into Gestapo headquarters. One slip up could mean the firing squad for all of us and put a lot of people in danger. As always for these, this is a strictly volunteer mission.”

It wasn't often they had a mission that involved saving one of their own, and they were on the bottom of the list of ones Hogan wanted to assign, if only because they were usually the most dangerous (and most of all because it meant one of his men was in trouble). When he looked between the three remaining men of his core team, however, he only saw fierce determination, ready to put their lives at risk.

Their response was never anything different.

“It's already been two days, _Colonel_ ,” Lebeau said. “We can't let the Gestapo keep Carter a minute longer.”

“I've been ready Guv'nor, let's go,” Newkirk added.

“Sounds good. Let's get Carter out of there.”

* * *

 

Kinch kept one hand on the phone cord as he drummed the fingers of his other, his gaze glancing back to his station every few minutes. The switchboard was currently black and the radio was quiet, but any moment it could light up with an incoming call.

He could hear the distant voices of Baker and Foster who were currently lining the tunnel leading to the emergency exit with the spare explosives Carter kept in his lab. It was the worst case scenario that none of them ever wanted to have to come down to, but Hogan had ordered it regardless...

“Hey Kinch, what was the time the Colonel gave if they don't come back?” Baker asked, coming up to grab more wire.

“0300 hours we start evacuating the barracks, we leave camp at 0430 hours and blow the tunnels.”

It left them with a little over four hours to finish and make it back. Plenty of time for their usual assignments that involved meetings, escorts, and the occasional sabotage, but this time they were dealing directly with the Gestapo. And with the extra patrols Klink still had around the camp, and then God forbid if they ran into trouble... Kinch only hoped they would return soon without anything happening.

They'll make it back to camp okay, Kinch told himself, and they'd bring Carter back with them as well. Alive.

* * *

 

Hogan wrung his hands together when Newkirk parked and shut off the car, running the plan over through his head for the thousandth time that night.

“Okay, let's run this by one more time. We get in there, grab Carter, and get out of there as quickly as we can while making it look believable,” he said, looking up at the warehouse turned makeshift Gestapo hideout. It was too nondescript for the horrors of what he knew happened inside; the thought made him shudder. “I want this to be simple and straight forward, no trouble, we can't afford it.”

“I've already got the Gestapo orders forged and right here in case we need 'em, Colonel,” Newkirk said as he patted his breast coat. “Signed by General Kinchmeyer himself.”

“And we have Kinch on radio stand by back at camp in case we need backup,” Lebeau said.

“Let's get Andrew out of there,” Newkirk said, a fierce look on his face. “It's been too long already.”

“Alright,” Hogan said with a tight smile, his gaze shifting between his two men as they wore similar expressions. “Newkirk, Lebeau, let's go. We stay together unless I say otherwise. Remember this is the Gestapo we're dealing with, the nastiest of the bunch.”

Newkirk got out of the car first, opening the door for Hogan who was in the back seat as Lebeau joined them from the other side. Straightening his greatcoat, the Colonel pulled his chest up to match the part of the Gestapo interrogator he was playing. They only had one shot at this, and if they messed up, it wasn't just Carter's life on the line tonight.

But right now Carter's life still depended on them, so they had to do it right.

“Colonel Schneider, _Heil Hitler,_ ” Hogan said, approaching the guard at the doorway with an air of impatient indifference as he threw his arm forward in a salute. Lebeau and Newkirk stood behind him on each side as two Captains following his orders. “We have orders to pick up the prisoner and take him to Berlin at once.”

“The prisoner?” The guard questioned with a raised brow. “How-”

“I don't want to hear it. I need to be in Berlin by morning and would like to make this quick,” Hogan snapped, cutting him off. “I have heard nothing of your interrogation report since you've picked him up, and I am disappointed.”

“My apologies, Colonel _._ He has not spoken a word,” the guard said, relaxing slightly. _Good_ , Hogan thought, although he didn't relax himself. _He seems to believe me so far. And Carter hasn't talked either._

“I will assure you he will talk when we take him back to Berlin. Where is he located?”

“On the bottom floor. It's where we keep them while they're questioned.”

“ _Danke. Guten abend,_ Corporal. _Heil Hitler_ ,” Hogan said, brushing past the guard and opening the door. Luckily the guard didn't protest as they entered the building, Hogan ushering in his men and shutting the door behind them.

Spotting the small stairwell leading into the bottom basement room, he jerked his head for them to follow as he scanned warily around in case someone was watching in. _Takes a spy to know a spy_ , he thought, but it only reminded him of the dangerous job they were doing. Hogan could feel the chill in air grow as they descended down the stairs, although he wasn't sure if it was from the growing anxiety from the mission, the colder temperature, or from the knowledge of what he knew happened down there.

The hallway was surprisingly empty when they reached the bottom; instead finding a small row of prison cells. Only one of the doors was closed, which Hogan approached and gave a sharp bellow to come out. A moment later a gruff looking Captain came through, bringing an air of annoyance with him as he looked the three of them over, and closed the cell door before Hogan even got a chance to see inside.

Looking down Hogan noticed, with a mix of disgust and horror, that his hands were stained with blood.

“Can I help you, Colonel...”

“Schnieder,” Hogan finished, acting as if the very thought of not knowing his name was an insult. “And yes, you can certainly help me. We are here to escort this prisoner to Berlin immediately for further questioning.”

Unlike the guard outside, the Captain was skeptical, giving the three of them a once over. “An escort? I did not hear anything about an escort, Colonel.”

Hogan kept his voice even, his cool gaze not leaving the Sergeant's. “Sounds like you didn't get the memo, there's been a change of plans.” Holding his hand out, Newkirk passed him the forged papers which he then shoved into the man's hand. “Headquarters is very unhappy to hear there have been no results, and demand the prisoner be brought back immediately. Do you really think I would travel several hours all the way from Berlin for a social call?”

His eyes skimmed over the papers, apparently satisfactory enough even though the scowl didn't completely leave his face, as he pulled the key from his utility belt. Hogan snatched it as soon as it was within reach, partially playing the character of impatience, but mostly because he wanted to hurry up and get Carter out of there.

The tangy and thick smell of copper that instantly hit his nose as soon as Hogan stepped into the tiny prison room made him falter for a split second before he recovered; his eyes instantly focused on the slumped over figure in the middle of the room. _Carter._ Hogan recognized him more by general shape and size of the figure than actual physical features, his body too beaten to easily identify at first, but there was no doubt it was his young Sergeant.

_This wasn't an interrogation, this is straight up torture. Good God, what the hell did they do to this boy..._ A quick glance back at his men showed horrific expressions that matched what he felt. Lebeau let out a weak whimper from next to him, before Hogan quickly silenced him with a firm hand on his upper arm.

“You know what to do,” Hogan whispered quietly as he shut the door behind them, gesturing his hands around in a wide sweep around the room. Newkirk and Lebeau immediately got to work, feeling every crack, crevice, and object in the room for any kind of listening or bug device. They needed to get Carter out as soon as possible, and a plant would only hamper their situation and delay time they could not afford.

Finally, after what felt like several long moments, Newkirk let go of the overhead lamp, shaking his head. “All clear Colonel, didn't find a thing.”

With Newkirk's affirmation, Hogan immediately kneeled down next to Carter and placed two fingers against his neck, and after a long moment felt the quick and thready pulse underneath. He nodded to his men as he sighed in relief, all of them visibly relaxing as their worst fear was proven false. “Oh Carter...”

Newkirk wasted no time in looking Carter over before Hogan could even give the order, his jaw clenched as he grit his teeth in suppressed anger. The evidence of rough torture was apparent.

“Just hold on a little while longer, Andrew. We'll get you out of here.” Hogan noticed, with dismay and growing worry, that Carter had yet to wake up, not responding when he tried to rouse him with a tap to his face. And as much as he didn't want to see him in any pain (though from the shadowed expression on his face, he was probably feeling it even while unconscious), he had at least hoped he could get the younger man to wake up a little bit.

“He's been through some kind of Hell. Bloody bastards, the whole lot of 'em,” Newkirk said as he began to work the bindings that held Carter to the chair. “I think we got here just in time, don't think he would've held on much longer.”

“ _Ces animaux._ Disgusting, rotten Krauts. I feel sick even pretending to be someone who would do this,” Lebeau spat. Despite looking almost green in the face, he squeezed his eyes shut and pushed through his dislike of blood, catching Carter when the wires were cut free.

“Right there with ya, Louis.” Newkirk shook his head as he threw the wire to the side and wiped his hands off on his pants. Hogan glanced over at the discarded metal, and instantly wished he hadn't. “I'll burn these uniforms when we get back to camp, you can ruddy bet on that.”

“Alright, alright,” he said, bringing his team back to focus on the task on hand. He was just as angry as they were, if not even more, but Carter came first. “We don't have a lot of time, so let's get Carter out of here now and back to camp.”

* * *

 

Voices. They were muffled, sounding almost like they were underwater(why was he underwater? He couldn't swim), and were too unclear to make out the words or who they might've been.

Something was off, Carter realized, as he slowly came to. No longer was he soaking wet sitting in a cold and hard backed chair, and gone were the cold and biting wires that dug into his wrists. Instead he was lying down on something soft and dry, with something warm draped on top of him. It was... comforting, almost. A blanket? Why would the Germans give him one of those?

_I'm not... Am I dead?_

Blinking his eyes open, his vision was too blurry to make out any definite shapes in the dim light, but he could just make out the gut wrenching familiarity of colors. Black, with just a hint of red. _Oh God. What are they going to do to me?_ He breathing started to quicken as he realized his grim predicament; he had to get away, he couldn't take much more, they'd break him before long and he couldn't do that to his friends. Figures hovered above him, what felt like hands pressing on his shoulders, holding him down and ready to torture him some more. Panicking, he started to struggle even harder, fighting to get away-

“Andrew, _Andrew_ , it's okay, stop fighting. Just slow your breathing and you'll calm down.”

The voice was commanding, soothing and somehow familiar, and Carter found himself doing just what it said.

“Deep breaths Andrew, in through the nose, out through the mouth. There we go. Keep breathing, just take it easy, it'll be okay.”

Closing his eyes as he listened to the voice, Carter managed to calm his breathing after a few moments. The adrenaline rush was starting to wear off, leaving him exhausted and drained, barely able to move. Mustering up the strength to open his eyes back up, he blinked several times to clear his vision and met the warm brown eyes of the Colonel, who was looking down at him with a mix of relief and concern. Lebeau was crouched next to Hogan with a similar expression as he fixed the blanket that Carter had pushed off earlier in his struggle. It was then he realized he was no longer in that dreaded prison cell, but instead stretched out in the back seat of a car. Newkirk looked back at him from the rear view mirror, and even from the little bit he could see in his reflection, Carter noticed he wasn't even trying to hide the worry on his face.

So he was actually out of there. He'd pinch himself to see if he was dreaming, but the pain was more than enough to prove he was awake. “C-Colonel Hogan?” His voice sounded thin, raspy, and unlike himself that Carter had a hard time believing it was himself who spoke.

“I'm right here,” Hogan said. “Don't worry, you're out of there now.”

“You were gone for two days, we thought...” A shadow passed over Lebeau's face. “We're glad to have you back.”

Two days. It had felt like an eternity. During his less lucid moments on the edge of consciousness near the end, he had thought he was going to die there. “How...” The words died on his lips, his throat too parched to continue. He hadn't had water in days.

“You need to drink something, you must be thirsty. Here you go, _mon ami,_ ” Lebeau said, gently lifting his head as he held a canteen to his lips. As soon as Carter tasted the cool water he realized just how thirsty he actually was, his hand moving to tilt the canteen to a higher angle before it was pushed back down. He instinctively started to panic again before Lebeau spoke again. “Easy Andre, don't drink it too fast or you'll make yourself sick.”

Taking the canteen from Lebeau when Carter was too tired to drink any more, Hogan dabbed a cloth with water and with a gentle hand, started to clean his face.

“I didn't-” Carter swallowed thickly, his mouth still dry despite drinking more than half the canteen of water. He _needed_ to tell the Colonel, he needed to know. Reaching forward to grasp at Hogan's sleeve with his other hand, he let out a hiss of pain when a sharp jolt shot up his injured arm as he extended it.

“Just lie still, Carter,” Hogan said, placing a gentle hand on his arm as he guided it back down. Risking a glance at it, Carter felt his stomach churn when he saw the cutting marks on his wrist, and then worsen when he caught just how the deep and grisly the wound on his arm was. He regretted even looking down; no wonder it had hurt practically nonstop. His grimace did not go unnoticed by Hogan, whose eyes followed his gaze before looking back up at Carter. “Don't worry, we'll be back to camp soon. Wilson will give you the good stuff and you'll be better in no time.”

“I-I didn't talk,” Carter rasped, struggling to speak as his strength started to quickly wane. He wasn't sure why Hogan's face faltered for a moment, before the tight smile returned almost as quickly. “I didn't say anything, sir, I-I... I didn't...”

“It's okay Carter, I know,” Hogan said, placing a gentle hand on his shoulder. “You did good Sergeant, you kept our operation safe. Don't worry, we'll take care of everything from here.”

Unable to keep his eyes open any longer, he was vaguely aware of a blanket being tucked in tighter around him, and was out with the feeling that he was finally safe for the first time in days.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fin. I hope I did justice for the buildup over the past four chapters. I debated about continuing on for a few more while Carter is finally back at camp, but ultimately I felt this was where I wanted it to end. They finally find Carter after two days of grieving/worrying about him, and Carter's finally safe, and I wanted to end it with that little piece of relief.


End file.
